


moonbeams

by thediscontent



Series: this is love [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Car Sex, First Time, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Size Difference, Strength Kink, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29825262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thediscontent/pseuds/thediscontent
Summary: Dream keeps looking at him with this strange glint in his eyes, razing over him like something’s wrong. George flushes, stirring uneasily as Dream just stares.“Are you wearing my sweatshirt?”
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: this is love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2204286
Comments: 150
Kudos: 1214





	moonbeams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loglady1980](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loglady1980/gifts).



> happy belated birthday dearest loglady. this was made specifically to torture you.

Briefly, George rues the day he ever met Dream. 

They’ve been at this party for _maybe_ 30 minutes when Dream comes stomping down the stairs and walking up to him, stinking of weed and tequila. There had been some loud yelling upstairs, but George had brushed it off as nothing more than your average party antics, though, given the look on Dream’s face, maybe he should have listened a little closer. 

“We’re leaving.” Dream cuts angrily, grasping George’s wrist and pulling him from where he sat, making him spill his White Claw. 

“What?” George questions hurriedly, wincing slightly from Dream’s grip. “We literally just got here.” 

George wasn't exactly enjoying himself, but still, it's a little rude to leave a conversation, no matter how mind numbingly boring it was. He shoots an apologetic glance at the group of Dream’s friends he’d been sitting with but they don’t seem to have noticed his absence. 

Dream doesn’t answer his complaints, continuing to pull him towards the exit, cutting expertly through the throng of sweaty bodies, music playing loud enough for George to feel it in his lungs. 

It’s only until they’re outside of the house does he let go, opting to run his hands through his hair and let out annoyed sighs, breath puffing white in the air. 

“What the hell, Dream?” George exclaims. “What's wrong with you?”

“Ok, first of all, it's _Clay_ to you, and second, you don't even want to be here, why the fuck are you complaining?”

“Jesus Christ, what is your problem?” George huffs, holding himself a little tighter. “You’re the one who dragged me here.” 

“What do you want to hear? You want me to say I walked in on Steph basically bouncing on some lineman’s dick?” Dream snarls, gesturing angrily towards the top floor of the house. “You want me to talk about that?”

“W-well, no-“ George balks, eyes widening as Dream huffs into the night, kicking up chunks of dirt.

“Let’s just get out of here.” Dream sighs, exhaustion clear in the slump of his broad shoulders. “I’ve had a long day.” 

“Dream-”

Dream shakes his head and starts walking to his truck, leaving George standing awkwardly in the front yard. 

“C’mon!” Dream yells over his shoulder, prompting George to scurry after him. 

When they get to the car, George sliding into the passenger seat only seconds after Dream starts it; they sit there for a while, not moving, not talking. Dream’s got his head bowed on the wheel, breathing heavily. 

“Clay?”

Dream and Steph have always been turbulent at best. Fighting almost constantly, breaking up pretty much every other week, only to make up and get back together. 

It annoyed the shit out of George, but, hey, when you’re 6’4 with both athletic and academic scholarships to Auburn and a tiny blonde cheerleader, you can get away with almost anything without being subject to becoming the pariahs of the highschool court. 

And Dream? Well, Dream can’t resist a cheerleader for the life of him, much less one who looks like Steph. George knows that all too well. 

“Fuck.” Dream sighs, jerking up and looking at the road ahead of them. “I don't want to go home.” 

“Then don't.” George says quietly, fiddling with the A.C. “Let’s go do something.” 

“Drive-in?” Dream offers, looking at George with his head turned and his temple pressed to the wheel. “It's not too late to catch a movie.” 

George nods intently because, well, at least they're still together. 

Dream keeps looking at him with this strange glint in his eyes, razing over him like something’s wrong. George flushes, stirring uneasily as Dream just _stares._

“Are you wearing my sweatshirt?” 

George feels a hot bolt of embarrassment curl up his stomach. He never thought Dream would notice, never thought he’d remember leaving it at George’s house. 

“I-uh…” George stammers, pulling at the sleeves while his body temperature shoots through the roof. 

Dream is quiet for a moment, the only sound is George’s labored breathing. 

“Get in the backseat.” Dream says abruptly, his teeth gritting together. 

“What?” George whimpers. “Clay, I’m sorry, I didn't-”

“Backseat.” Dream interrupts as his jaw strains, tendons popping as little red spots flush high on his cheekbones. **“Now.”**

* * *

George crawls in the backseat with his heart choking his lungs, shaking as Dream paces outside the truck. 

He wants to die, seriously, he wants to keel over and die right there. He’d been so _fucking_ stupid, wearing Dream’s hoodie to the fucking party, essentially flaunting it off when Dream had expressly told him not to tell _anyone_ what they did to each other. 

The back door opens and Dream looks in, his shoulders hunched as cool air rushes through the car. His eyes are dark and lidded as he gets in, shutting the door behind him before crowding George up against the back of the seat. 

“Clay.” George whimpers, “Please, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

Dream shuts him up as quickly as he can, pulling him into his lap and kissing him roughly, shoving his tongue down George’s throat. His hands slide up George’s stomach, lying hot and rough as he grabs at the small of his back.

_Oh. So he’s not mad._

“W-what are you doing?” George asks breathlessly, pulling away from the kiss as Dream leans back in.

“Mm, what does it feel like?” Dream answers, nosing at his throat. “Just touching, baby.” 

“Are-aren’t we going to the-the uh-“ George trails off as Dream starts sucking hickies into the column of his throat. 

“Do you _want_ to go to the movies?” Dream replies, his hands scalding as he grips George’s hips, pushing him down on his lap as he thrusts his hips up, groaning gently in his ear.

“ ‘Cause I can stop,” He murmurs into George’s neck, pressing open mouth kisses over his arteries, “If you want to go watch Wall-E.”

George giggles as Dream brushes their noses together, gently easing him onto his back as they shift into a more comfortable position. The back seat of the truck isn't small by any length, but Dream is a large man, and it's a little difficult for him to balance George on his lap without falling over, especially not after all the shots he threw back earlier that night. 

“Hey.” Dream smiles at him, his eyes shining with mirth. 

“Hi.” George replies, tucking a curl of hair behind Dream’s ear. 

“You’re pretty.” Dream breathes, smiling as he watches George blush underneath him.

“Stop it.” George says, pushing at Dream’s face. 

Dream laughs, catching George’s hands and easily holding them down above his head. It's a little embarrassing to be subdued so quickly but he knows Dream’s strength well enough that he doesn't even bother fighting it. 

Dream starts lifting George’s sweatshirt up, sucking right below his ear as George shifts uneasily under him. 

“D-Dream…” He sighs, weakly pushing at his letterman clothed shoulders. 

“Hm?” Dream grunts back, trying to fit as much of George’s ass in his hands as he possibly can. 

“Steph-“

Dream scoffs loudly, interrupting whatever it was George was about to say. “Can’t we just forget about her?” He sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “C’mon baby, just relax.”

“You’re drunk,” George says bluntly.

“So are you.” Dream fires back, his hands returning to George’s waist. “Why does that matter?”

“It-well, Dream-” 

Dream tuts gently, pressing their mouths together as George huffs against his lips. “I told you to call me Clay.” 

George melts into the kiss, the leather covering of the seats sticking to his skin as Dream lifts and cradles his head in his hands. 

He knows guilt should be lying deep and conquering in his belly, knows he shouldn't gasp when Dream presses hot kisses to the side of his jaw, and he _definitely_ knows that he shouldn't let him hungrily pull up the front of his sweatshirt, but he does anyways. 

“Damn, George.” Dream hums thoughtfully, his eyes running over George's flat stomach. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“What?”

“You,” Dream grins, leaning down to press a kiss in between George’s ribs, “are _very_ pretty.”

George flushes, and he's about to bat the blond man away when Dream’s head drops, closing his mouth over one of George’s nipples. Warm waves of pleasure sail through George’s chest as Dream runs his tongue over the nub, sucking and teasing until George is arching into his mouth. 

“Jesus-fuck, Clay.” George gasps breathlessly.

Dream laughs into the sensitive skin, pulling back up to bite at the other nipple before rising to his forearms, his mouth slick with spit. “So?” 

George frowns. “So what?”

“ _So_ are you going to let me fuck you, or am I going to have to convince you a little more?” 

George flushes heavily, and Dream looks so sincere, so wanting and honest he can't help but wilt under his gaze. 

“Oh, come on, baby.” Dream whispers, his voice like honey and lime. “It's not like we haven’t done anything before.” 

Memories flash in technicolor before George’s eyes, stolen moments of George falling to his knees after football games, tucked away in bathrooms and staff closets, hands pulling and tearing at his hair as he chokes on Dream’s dick. Making out before school, jerking him off as Dream drove them to his house, panting as his hands gripped the steering wheel. There was even that one time when Dream picked him up from a robotics competition and decided to _congratulate_ him on his win in the parking lot. 

George tries to squirm out from under him, but Dream only holds him down harder, smirking like it’s little more than holding down a wily kitten. His tongue presses into the underside of George's jaw, trailing down his throat. “It’s okay, George. You know I want you too.” 

George tells himself that Dream doesn’t mean it like the way he wants him to. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Dream leans in close, his lips ghosting over George's ear as he whispers to him. “I think about you when I fuck her.” 

George whines breathlessly, bucking up as Dream’s fingers trail down George's hips, playing with the band of his jeans.

“I wonder about you, George.” Dream whispers, his breath hot and destructive on George’s skin, “I think about how tight you’d be. How _easy_.”

“You’re such an asshole,” George says shakily, though a shiver runs down his spine. He digs his nails into the yielding leather sleeves of Dream’s letterman. “God, fuck you.”

Dream laughs, pulling off George’s sweatshirt and shucking off his letterman when George let out a loud complaint about the wool scratching his skin. George would be nervous about being stripped down in Dream’s car, but he knows the windows are tinted, and the music is playing loud enough that no one can hear them. 

“You're so tiny, ” Dream gasps mockingly, “look how _little_ you are.” 

Dream wraps his hands around George’s waist, his fingertips almost brushing against each other. He’s a tease, such a fucking tease, running the pads of his fingers over George’s ribcage so lightly, goosebumps rise to George’s skin.

“Baby…” Dream rumbles, kissing his collarbone. “Do you have an answer for me?”

George rolls his eyes as best he can with a wet mouth still lazily sucking hickeys into his skin. 

“Fucking hell Clay, you want to get your dick wet that bad?”

Dream snarls, the hand still wrapped around George’s waist tightening harshly. “Don't be a bitch, George. I've had enough of that today.”

George scoffs but makes no move to stop Dream from slowly working his jeans down his skinny hips. His paper white skin gleams in the moonlight, the darkness of the car a welcoming shade to fall into. Dream’s hands are hot and rough against the sides of his thighs, worn and calloused from physical labor.

Dream makes a small, prideful sound when George’s jeans are completely pulled off, throwing them in the front seat before leaning down and kissing George’s breath away yet again

“T-take your shirt off.” George gasps, lifting the bottom of it to lay a hand on Dream’s hard stomach.

“Oh, so now you want it?” Dream teases, pressing his thumbs down into the hollow of George’s collarbone. 

“Well, I don't want to be the only one naked.” 

Dream laughs his silver moonbeam laugh, and pulls his shirt over his head, his arms straining as he leans back down. 

George felt trapped. Dream’s body was blocking out the light, pressing him against the seat, basically rendering him immobile. George has thought about this before, about the way Dream’s chest looked under his shirt, about his broad shoulders, filling out his letterman, about how those arms would look holding him down. 

_Fuck it._

George grabs Dream’s belt loops, pulling his hips down as he wrapped his other arm around the back of his neck, arching off the car seat to hungrily kiss him. 

“God, you’re filthy, aren’t you?” Dream smirks as he bites into George’s bottom lip. “So fucking dirty.” 

“Fuck you.” George snarls back, his nails digging into Dream’s muscled back. 

“You know, you keep saying that, and yet you’re still underneath me.” Dream smiles, tapping his chin with his finger while he pulls at George’s hair with his free hand. “It kinda makes me think you don't really mean it.” 

George shoves Dream as hard as he can, but Dream hardly moves, just grinning down at him with some dark satisfaction in his eyes. 

“Oh, poor baby. ” Dream frowns. “That didn't work too well, now did it?” 

“ _God_ , just-fucking-” George starts, pulling at Dream’s hair as the blond sinks his teeth into the side of George's throat. “Just get _on_ with it.”

Dream shakes his head fondly, pressing a soft kiss to the side of George’s face as he opens the dashboard and pulls out something George can’t see.

George hears him make an angry noise, his face hidden by the shadow. 

“What’s wrong?” George calls, his voice delicate and sweet. 

“I-uh-” Dream grits his teeth, but he softens as he looks down at George’s vulnerable face. “Listen, George, I don't have a condom.” 

“Huh?” George asks, dazedly running his fingers over the hard muscles on Dream’s chest. 

“Focus, George.” Dream snaps, pulling George’s hands away. “I don't have a condom.”

“Okay?” George frowns, shifting his eyes around. 

“Wh-...George, have you not done this before?” Dream asks, looking rather bewildered by the confused look on George’s face. 

George flushes and looks away, taking far too long to reply for Dream to believe him. “...yes?”

“Liar.” Dream responds, but his face falls a little bit. “We...uh, we can stop, okay? I don't want to take something you’ll regret giving me.” 

“No! No, I want to. Please, I want-” George implores him, his eyes wide and desperate. “I want it to be you.”

“You want it to be me?” Dream repeats, soothingly running the backs of his hands over the insides of George’s thighs. “Me?”

George nods again, a profuse expression of trust on his face, open and helpless. “I want my first time to be with you.”

“Really?” Dream asks, as if, maybe, he’d heard him wrong.

“Only you.” George gasps, trembling at the way Dream touches him so softly, with breathtaking reverence. “It’s only ever been you.” 

“Fuck, okay.” Dream leans down and presses a soft kiss against George's cheekbone. “I’ll be gentle.”

George fixes his eyes on the stars as Dream jostles around the backseat, unbuckling his jeans and pulling the front down as he spreads George’s thighs. 

“George?” Dream whispers, sounding like secrets and memories he‘ll never forget. 

George makes a small noise of approval, reaching down to hold Dream’s wrist, firmly planted on either side of his hips. He keeps looking through the sunroof. 

He can't help but think that, in another world, thousands of light-years away, maybe their first time wouldn't be a desperate tryst in the backseat of some old Ford. Maybe, the first time Dream had him was in a bed, after a date, love latent in the air as he took him apart. Maybe, somewhere, somehow, it's not a revenge fuck fueled by jealousy and shitty wine coolers. A tear slips out of George’s eye as Dream presses a lubed finger inside him, but it has nothing to do with the stretch. 

“Look at me.” Dream breathes, pulling one of George’s thighs over his shoulder, pressing yet another finger inside of him, curling and stretching faster than George is prepared for. 

He lets out a sharp cry of pain, and Dream stiffens immediately. Even through the haze of drunkenness, his hands slow, leaning down and kissing apologies into the hollow of George’s throat. 

He’s trying to be gentle, but he’s so much bigger, and it’s almost obscene, the way his hand easily fits around both of George’s wrists, holding him down as he whines pitifully. Bruises are already starting to appear on his hip bones, painting his pearlescent skin beautiful shades of lavender. 

Dream lets off of George’s throat, murmuring a soft “You okay?”

George nods his assent, not trusting himself to speak, terrified a love confession might slip out of his garnet lips. 

Dream’s hands speed back up, gentler and slower this time, allowing George to enjoy the sensation of Dream’s fingers, so much bigger than his own, curling and thrusting slickly into him.

Dream pulls away, and as George looks down their bodies, he begins to regret ever letting Dream push him into his truck because _fuck_ , he always forgets. 

He’s huge. Of course he is; he’s a big man, it only makes sense, but maybe he’s _too_ big, especially for a virgin. They haven't done anything like this before and George can't help but feel a spike of fear roll through him. 

George opens his mouth to voice his concerns, but then Dream looks down at him, desire practically dripping from his eyes, and George can do nothing but try to relax as he’s consumed again. 

Dream presses their foreheads together before he does anything, slicking himself up as George settles underneath him, wrapping his thin arms around the back of Dream’s neck. 

“No condom.” Dream reminds him.

“Don’t care.” George replies, and there's no going back after that. 

He pushes in and George cries out immediately, pain burning through his every nerve. Dream keeps going, so slow, so gentle as he kisses the tip of George’s nose.

“Is-is it all the way in?” George asks weakly after what seems like lifetimes, his nails fucking up Dream’s leather seats as he scrambles for something to hold onto. 

“A-almost, baby.” Dream replies shakily, petting George’s sides as he slowly pierces his body. “You’re doing so well.” 

Dream pushes and pushes, groaning into George’s ear until he bottoms out, his hips flush to George’s ass. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Dream moans, grinding into George helplessly. 

George lets out a small squeak of discomfort, pushing at Dream’s chest because he's not sure what else to do, gasping as Dream shifts, spearing him further. 

Dream fucks him as all over-eager high school boys do, which is to say he goes too fast too quick, and George cries out loudly when Dream starts to get rough. He’s forgetting how strong he is, how much each thrust is pushing George up the seat, how he has to hold him in place as he fucks into him. 

“‘M sorry, baby.” He whispers, sounding genuinely apologetic, kissing away the tears that well up in George’s eyes. 

He’s still looking at the stars, naming the constellations to himself as Dream moves slower, kinder, movements full of tequila and desire. It’s lazy, languid and beautiful and it feels so good. 

Dream shifts George’s hips sweetly in his hands, changing the angle, and it’s enough to make George gasp, newfound pleasure blooming in his belly. He gasps, and the stars blur as Dream presses into something that has hot blood burning through his veins.

He wonders if Orion will remember the way Dream kissed him. If Andromeda won’t forget the hands that cradled his hips, the face that melted at the little sounds George let out.

“George?” Dream asks gently, his hand trailing up his soft belly, caressing the skin, tapping over his ribs. “Okay?” 

“Yes-fuck, please-“ George whimpers, because it feels so fucking good, Dream rubbing inside him so hot and pretty, and his back is arching off the car seat as the air gets sticky and humid with their breath. “ _Please.”_

“G-George will, would you let me, fuck, baby-“ Dream gasps, rocking his hips into George faster and faster. “Let me spit-uh-“

George opens his mouth, pulling Dream’s face closer to him. Dream lets out a grateful sigh, spitting into George’s mouth, who receives it with a happy sigh. 

“Thank you, thank you, you’re so good, George, so good for me.” Dream moans, rocking into him at a maddening pace. 

It’s close, they’re both so close and when Dream reaches around to dig his thumb into the slit of George’s cock, he _screams_ , shaking something fierce as he locks his legs around Dream’s strong hips. 

“I-I’m gonna-Clay, I-“

“Do it, _fuck_ , show me how good you feel, show me how good I make you feel-“ Dream groans, stroking George faster and rough. “C’mon angel, do it, _do it._ ”

George cums with a loud cry, the stars shining down on him with apologies in their cores, blue and white and gold and green all too much at once, colors blinding him until he can’t _breathe_ , and Dream is still going, riding him through it. 

Dream rips through him, cumming inside almost violently, and though he doesn’t ask if he can, George can’t find it in himself to be upset. 

It's almost all okay, because Dream was so sweet, so gentle but-

George took his eyes off the sunroof when he came, and when he looks back, he can’t see the stars anymore. A dark cloud has rolled over and Cassiopeia isn’t there to comfort him anymore, her gentle light is gone and George _hates_ the dark. 

A sob rolls up his chest, and he can’t even feel it when Dream starts kissing his jaw, because his eyes are still straining to see the constellations again, and his hands are reaching around Dream’s back to claw at the night sky. 

He’s being forgotten again. 

The stars, who are never supposed to leave, staying the eons through every night are _gone_. They've left him. 

Dream doesn't notice, he never does. 

George can’t breathe anymore. 

The stars that watched Achilles grieve Patroclus have blinked out. 

The stars that looked upon Cleopatra and Antony have forsaken him. 

He is alone with Dream, and he is afraid. 

Because that’s George. That’s how he and Dream work. 

Dream uses him when he wants and casts him aside only to pick him back up when it’s convenient, and George just _takes_ it because that’s all he knows how to do, and that's all he’s been allowed to get. 

Secrets whispered to his pillow at night, Dream holding his hand under a blanket. Ignoring him in public, just to look at him like he’s everything when they're alone. 

He’s all wrong, made up of all the dirtiest parts, the most sinful things they whisper in each other's ears. There are no sweet nothings. There are no soft kisses. 

And that's just George.

Good enough to fuck. 

Never enough to love. 

George fights the tears that well up in his eyes as Dream pants against his collarbone, his hands loosely holding onto George’s hips. 

Dream looks at him with something soft and unreadable in his expression. George is terrified it’s going to change into something he can't handle, change into regret, terrified of falling to pieces right there under him. His eyes crease and George shuts his own because he can't bear to look at the disgust he knows must writhe, live wire, in his greens.

If he can’t see the stars, he doesn’t want to see at all. 

He can feel Dream’s breath on his cheek as he turns away, focusing on anything but the man still inside of him. Dream sighs heavily, bringing his hand up to cradle his little face, wiping away drying tears. 

George thinks he might die. His heart is tearing apart in his chest, physically atrophying and decaying as he shakes with the aftermath of what they've done. 

It's too much, they've gone too far this time, it's too much, and Dream hates him, he has to hate him, and it's all coming down and down but-

Dream’s voice cuts through him like fire through ice, like an asteroid through the atmosphere. It’s bloody and secret, but god, if it’s not honest. 

“I think I'm in love with you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> my twitter is:
> 
> [dis](https://twitter.com/thediscontent_)
> 
> song-  
> white room by cream


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